


reaching up to grab me

by pixelpop (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Angst, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Freeform, M/M, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/pixelpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Niall stops eating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reaching up to grab me

**Author's Note:**

> I know people with eating disorders, and my mother struggled with it when she was young, so I do know a bit about it. I've dealt with depression, my mother has, we both go to therapy. I know what these things are like. 
> 
> I just...
> 
>  
> 
> _Read between the lines_

A lot can change in six months.

Zayn anticipates seeing him, lively and healthy and happy, _just like he left him._

But like everything in his life, it never goes as he expects it.

There’s a murmur of quiet words into his mouth, and the welcome home kiss is suddenly stained sour and wrong. The thin bones that tie him like a cage are no longer the same, and the skin is stretched and thin. The smile is tugged into a muted frown, and a rush of fear climbs to Zayn’s head.

_Never again. Don’t ever leave, Zayn._

**No. Never again.**

It’s the framework to what used to be a loud and healthy young man, now just a rotting cavity inside of Zayne’s heart. The cavity grows bigger at each ragged breath and the press of callused fingers to the jagged ribcage.

Long, unruly hair that’s a not so natural blond splays out over the pillow. Hands and feet are ice cold and the eyes are bruised and worn. The empty shell doesn’t have to be real, but it only is when he denies everything, hoping that the lies aren’t as transparent as his skin.

The food lies untouched every morning, noon, and night. And every time, Zayn feels everything in him collapse and break, like that fragile frame of Niall’s body. It’s delicate, like porcelain, something beautiful yet scarred and untouched.

He presses bruised lips to a solid collarbone, and Zayn observes the unevenly colored hair at the top of his head. Breathing is shaky and uneven, rattling around in the small lungs inside that small body.

_I can feel you worrying._

**I can feel you breathing.**

It’s shallow, not even a laugh if you really want to count it. Everything is broken and small and— _one, two, three, four, yes I can count your ribs._ Zayn tries to drown himself in those eyes like he could before, but yet again it’s like fogged up glass with nothing on the other side. He could try to wipe away the steam, but he still wouldn’t find anything there.

**It hurts.**

_Don’t._

He jostles the bony limbs and tugs Niall tighter. Just pretend like you’re somewhere else, and it won’t be as painful.

_It’s not your fault._

**But I can’t do anything.**

They don’t cry, but they don’t talk about it. It’s a wet blanket that gets heavier and weighs them down so bad it’s painful. Niall can’t hold it up, frail and thin by the shoulders and every bit of him.

_I could’ve done better._

**Don’t pretend. It’s my fault because I left.**

There’s an unspoken conversation in the air. Niall tremors from the chills.

Everything is cold and worn, and the bed sheets scratch at Zayn’s ankles. They sleep with their clothes on and their masks fastened tightly. Niall wears his the longest, even when he’s asleep for a mere forty minutes and wakes up to lazily brush his teeth.

Zayn lies there in the bed, fisting the gray sheets into his hand as he contemplates what to say. A pale dawn opens up through the window, and Niall steps into the threshold of the bathroom. There’s a smudge of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth, and Zayn would usually get up to either kiss it or wipe it off, but now it just makes his heart crack and break.

**You’re so skinny. You’re so fucking skinny.**

_No, Zayn. Don’t be that way._

Zayn pushes back a growl in his throat and shoves his face into the pillow, smelling faintly of Niall.

Niall crawls back into bed and huddles close, face pressed down into Zayn’s neck.

**It scares me.**

_It doesn’t have to be this way._

No. It doesn’t. Zayn contemplates calling Louis for a second, thinking maybe he’ll get something. He’ll get something back, they can make things better, but every thought is just a jumbled mess inside his head.

_Let it be. Just let me be, and it’ll be okay._

**I don’t know what to do.**

In the silence of the room, Zayn wishes that things didn’t have to change.

Niall wishes that the mirror would stop lying.

Every shallow breath and every bruise is like a carnivore chewing at Zayn’s heart. He wants to make it stop, and he wants to make it all go away, but you can’t just say something like that without fucking things up. He doesn’t want to say what it is out loud and he doesn’t want to ask what happened because he’s afraid he’ll _leave._ In six months, a lot of things can change.

But the entire soul and being of the person he loves just doesn’t seem fair.

In exactly eight days, Niall relays to him only five words that actually scare him.

_It might eat me up._

**You have to tell me.**

The mask is starting to slide out of place, and eventually Niall won’t even come to the table. Zayn doesn’t eat around him; afraid that there might be some reaction he’s not aware of, scared that he’s fucked something more up.

Niall never sleeps.

He’s this ghost of a person, always avoiding the mirrors, yet Zayn can still see him looking, sad like there’s something completely wrong or out of place. He still won’t speak about it. He pretends to ignore it even though it is completely visible and obviously there.

_I’m terrified about what it’ll do to me._

**I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.**

They lay in the utter silence of the apartment, Niall lying near the window with the afternoon light bathing him in what seems like a heavenly glow. The ribs are like razor blades, cutting through the translucent skin, and his eyes are bruised beyond recognition. Zayn’s surprised at himself that he hasn’t cried yet.

**You’re not the Niall I knew.**

_I hope you don’t hate me._

Zayn presses a kiss to the other’s forehead, firm and promising of many things that he can’t say aloud.

_Don’t leave me. Do you promise?_

**I promise I won’t leave you if you try and tell me.**

_But I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you about it. I guess the means you can’t promise, right?_

**Just try. Just try as hard as you can to tell me something. I need to know.**

There’s a long bit of silence that stretches into the evening.

_I can’t stop. It won’t stop. None of it will stop. If I starve it, maybe things will be better._

**Starving yourself isn’t the answer to anything.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_It’s pulling me_

_d_

_o_

_w_

_n_

 

 

 

**Climb back out.**

**_Don’t let it take you._ **


End file.
